


Poker Face

by dyingpoet



Series: Sprace one shots [18]
Category: Newsies - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Era, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Slurs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-12
Updated: 2018-08-12
Packaged: 2019-06-26 13:29:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15664152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dyingpoet/pseuds/dyingpoet
Summary: In which Spot Conlon has a lot on his mind





	Poker Face

**Author's Note:**

> I really gotta start writing something besides Sprace

Spot had been to the Refuge twice. Nobody talked much about it like they did Jack, or even Race occasionally, he hadn’t rode out on the back of a carriage or anything. He’d just bided his time and waited out his sentence, one month the first time and two the second. And despite getting canned for losing it on a couple guys, he got let out early on good behavior both times. The Refuge wasn’t fun and he tried not to start shit.

But he really didn’t want to go back, the last time had been a good two years ago and he was doing well. A lot of things had changed since then though. 

He was leading Brooklyn; Bridges had gotten scarlet fever a year back, ‘till the end the guy was trying to make sure none of the others got sick, especially the little ones. And he’d appointed Spot a couple of days before the end, that took him a little off guard.

And now they’d fixed things with Manhattan and Queens for the most part, stopped a lot of guys from getting hurt for no reason.

People from Manhattan hanging around was new too. At least one of them stopped by every night, usually Race because he sold in Sheepshead, sometimes Jack if he could get away from the weird family thing they had going on over there. 

But yeah. Usually Race.

“In or out Spot?” 

A breath of smoke ghosted over Spot’s face and he kept his eyes stubbornly on his cards. His hand was shit, pair of fives and it was looking like Race was going for a straight. 

“In, and I raise ya two.” He tossed the four pennies into the pot and leaned back in his chair. Kid was too cocky for his own damn good. “Call it or fold.”

Blue let out a low whistle before folding, Silver and Baz following him. It went back to Race, who smirked at Spot over his cards before tossing the two cents in.

“Callin’ ya bluff Conlon, ain’t got shit ova’ there,” he said.

“Never were able ta’ put ya money where ya mouth is Racer.” Another penny clinked onto the pile and he shot a wink to Blue. Usually he wouldn’t be this open with them, but they were kids, winter was rough and Blue looked like Christmas morning came early for him, so it really wasn’t hurting anybody. 

Race didn’t say anything else, flicking his penny in to meet the raise and turning over his cards. A straight to the ace, damn.

There was a hiss when Spot turned over his own shitty cards.

Silver clapped Race on the back. “Gave ‘im a run for ‘is money, eh Manhattan?”

“Never been awful hard to do,” Race said, taking off his hat and sweeping the pile of coins inside. “Kid’s got no poker face, it’s all in the eyes.”

Spot stretched out his arms and popped his knuckles, it was a long game but he was still buzzing with energy. “Cut it with the ‘kid’ shit, ‘les ya wanna walk across the bridge by your lonesome?”

There were a couple of hoots at the threat and the pair stared each other down. 

He wouldn’t tell the guy in a million years but Race had a damn good poker face, mostly because it was so damn condescending it got you to give yourself away. He had this little smirk and his eyes looked like they were staring at a hundred bucks every time he glanced at his cards.

Tonight though, Race let out a sigh before his eyes flicked away.

“Got ‘im Spot!”

Smirking, Spot stood as the guys hollered and whistled at Racetrack. “”S what I thought. Let’s go, gettin’ cold out there.”

He nearly ran smack into Blue when he turned to grab his hat, the kid was holding it up to him and shifting his eyes from the floor back up. He was nine, if Spot remembered right, said he had a brother when they first found him out on the street, but with all their looking they never dug him up. 

“Thank ya kid.” He ruffled Blue’s hair with one hand and took the hat with the other. “Get ta sleep, gotta be sellin’ in a couple hours.”

Blue nodded and Spot started for the door, kicking at Race’s ankle to get him going. Once he was out the door Spot turned to shoot a look at Baz, who nodded and started barking at the guys to get in bed.

It wasn’t really his thing to play parent and Baz was better at it anyway, the guys looked up to Spot but they all loved Baz; he was softer was all.

Race was leaning on a streetlamp when he walked out, taking a puff of his cigar and falling into step with Spot when they started walking. 

“Nice bunch a’ guys ya got in there Spotty,” Race said after a moment. “That kid really likes ya.”

He bumped Spot’s shoulder and the contact felt nice, it was probably below forty by now. 

A nod. “Blue, had a brudda before we found ‘im, took to me ‘cause he misses ‘im I guess.”

They were at the base of the bridge, there was a nice little spot right off to the side where you couldn’t get seen from street and were too low to get spotted from the bridge. You could hear the water really nice too, and a couple minutes every night they found themselves over there.

Race’s fingers laced through his once they got under the overhang of the bridge. “That’s real nice of ya, ta take ‘im in.”

Spot hummed low in his throat, breath hitching the slightest bit when they connected eyes. “Stop lookin’ at me like that.”

“Like what?”

They were closer now.

“Like you’se lookin’ at cards,” he said softly. A hundred bucks, he swore.

They got their couple of minutes though, the cold always eased up a bit on them whenever it happened, at least for Spot. Not speaking for Race or anything but when they got back on the street his whole body was buzzing with warmth.

Their hands weren’t intertwined anymore and their faces looked flushed but the street was empty and it didn’t seem like it mattered.

Walking across the bridge was brisk and they both saved their breath, the wind was strong and caught anything they tried to say anyway. But it was at their backs and it barely took a quarter of an hour to get to the other side. 

“See ya tomorrow Spotty.”

Spot nodded and leaned back against the railing of the bridge to light a cigarette, party because of the cold and partly to make sure Race got in.

He didn’t. 

A second or so after he shook out a match, he saw two guys come up behind Race. One of them shoved at his back and the other made a grab for Race’s hat with the winnings. He kept out of their reach but they got him against a wall. 

Spot was on his feet and halfway there before either of them got a word out. 

“Whatcha got there Higgins?”

“He looks like he’s tryna get off with somethin’ that ain’t his Morris.”

None of them could see Spot walking in shadow, and if Race did he didn’t show it. He looked like a frightened cat or something, all pressed up against the wall, the light was dim but Spot could see him digging his nails against the brick. He was honestly scared. 

“Seems funny don’t it? For ya to be talkin’ ‘bout stealing when all’a the guys from here to the west side know ya muggin’ kids for scrap,” Race spit out.

They shot curses back and forth and Spot held himself back. If he came in there’d be questions once word got around. It was late and two guys hanging around near the bridge didn’t look good. 

One of them shoved at Race’s shoulder and Race shoved him back. Spot felt his heart pick up a little and inched forward, in time with Race actually. He got in the one’s face and held up a fist.

“Get outta here Morris.”

The other jerked Race back by his collar. “Listen up fuckin’ fag-”

He didn’t get the rest out and Spot heard the crack of his fist hitting bone like it was far away. Race looked surprised and started trying to pull Spot off of the guy, whoever the other one was bolted. Anger was bubbling in his chest though and he was pulling against Race’s arms because he didn’t need to hear that  _ fucking  _ shit from some scum on the street. Blood dripped off his hand when he finally staggered back.

“Jesus Christ Spot.”

Everything happened in quick flashes after that and Spot just saw Race being shoved back by a bull before he was in the back of a carriage and moving fast in the other direction.

Ears ringing, he heard a voice giving him a month. 

Baz would be fine with everyone for a month, he was damn good at calming Blue down too.

Race would still be there in a month, he was probably planning a game for when he got back already.

Through a quickly fading haze of anger he clenched and unclenched his fist, dried blood cracking uncomfortable. Fucker deserved it, hell,  _ Race  _ deserved it. 

Third time’s a charm and all anyways. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope yall liked this! The end felt rushed but oh well
> 
> Leave kudos/comments if you want to brighten a Tired Writer's day <3


End file.
